by Tony Locke
‘All the better to sweep your grave,’ Rawhead roared, his enchanted voice echoing through the silence of the woods, getting louder and louder with each echo.
The hunter took to his heels and ran towards his cabin. He ran past the woodpile, the old well and the rotten fence into the garden in front of his cabin. But Rawhead was a lot faster. When the hunter reached the front door of his cabin, Rawhead leapt out of the shadows and stood looming over him. The hunter looked up in terror. He saw the gleaming red eyes staring out from the ugly head of the otter and his bloody skeleton, with its long boar claws and the rotting tail of a long-dead fox.
‘Oh, what big teeth you’ve got,’ the hunter said, stumbling backwards from the terrible sight before him.
‘All the better to eat you with, just like you wanted to eat me,’ Rawhead roared.
The sound of one long scream reverberated through the wood and then there was silence, except for the sound of crunching.
16
MARY BUTTERS
(c. 1770-1850)
COUNTY ANTRIM
Mary Butters, the Carnmoney Witch, was put forward for trial at the Spring Assizes in March 1808. It is an instance of black magic versus white magic, although it should be remembered that in the persecution of witches many women were put to death on the latter charge. It should be said at this point that the skill of these women in the use of herbs benefited the population and added greatly to our present-day knowledge of pharmacology. The following story comes from the Belfast News-Letter of 21 August 1807.
One Tuesday night an extraordinary event took place in the house of a tailor named Alexander Montgomery, who lived near Carnmoney meeting house. The tailor had a cow that continued to give milk as usual, but of late no butter could be produced from it. Montgomery’s wife came to believe that this was caused by the cow having been bewitched. Her belief in this was strengthened by the fact that every old woman in the parish knew stories of certain women who used witchcraft, spells or the evil eye to cause problems out of spite or jealousy.
At length the family were told about a woman named Mary Butters, who resided at Carrigfergus. She was a well-known sorceress so they brought her to the house to cure the cow. At about ten o’clock that night, war was declared against the unknown witches. Mary Butters ordered old Montgomery and a young man named Carnaghan to go out to the cow-house, turn their waistcoats inside out, then stand by the head of the cow until she sent for them, while the wife, the son, and an old woman named Margaret Lee remained in the house with her.
Montgomery and his ally kept their lonely vigil until daybreak, when, alarmed that they had received no summons, they left their post and knocked at the door. There was no response. They then looked through the kitchen window and saw to their horror that the four others were stretched out on the floor, dead. They immediately burst in the door and found that the wife and son were dead and the sorceress and Margaret Lee nearly so. The latter expired soon afterwards.
Mary Butters was thrown out on a dung heap and a restorative administered to her in the shape of a few hearty kicks, which had the desired effect of waking her up. The house had a sulphurous smell and on the fire was a large pot in which there was milk, needles, pins and crooked nails. At the inquest held at Carnmoney on 19 August, the jurors stated that the three victims had come to their deaths from suffocation, owing to Mary Butters having made use of some noxious ingredients in her potion intended to cure the sick cow.
She was brought up at the assizes, but discharged by proclamation after she claimed that the devil had appeared in the house in the guise of a black man, armed with a huge club, with which he killed the other three people and stunned her. Terrible though the whole affair was, it seems to have aroused no more amongst the inhabitants of Carnmoney and Carrigfergus than ridicule and mockery.
Mary Butters continued to practise her art for decades afterwards and was still consulted by the locals in cases of bewitched cows.
17
THE COFFIN
NATIONWIDE
There once was a man who was walking home alone on a dark and windy night. His path took him down a dark, deserted street that ran right by the local cemetery. As he passed the gates, he heard a strange noise in the darkness behind him. Not daring to look back, he quickened his pace, but the bumping noise continued. He stopped and turned to see what it was. Coming down the road behind him was a coffin, standing on end, bumping from side to side. BUMP, BUMP, BUMP!
The man couldn’t believe his eyes. Terrified, he turned and ran into the driving rain. Behind him, the coffin began to move even faster. BUMP, BUMP, BUMP!
Ahead of him, there was a branch that had fallen from a tree. He reached down and grabbed it as he ran by. He turned and threw it at the coffin, but it just splintered and fell to the ground. The coffin continued chasing him, faster and faster – BUMPITY, BUMPITY, BUMPITY!
The man turned the corner onto his street and ran through his front gate. The coffin was right behind him. He dashed into his house, but the coffin crashed through the front door. The front of the coffin swung open and the man glimpsed the horrible sight of a skeleton inside.
He ran upstairs and grabbed his shotgun off the wall display. He took aim and blasted the coffin with both barrels, but the shot bounced harmlessly off the coffin and it continued up the stairs. BUMP, CLOMP, BUMP, CLOMP!
The man, desperate and scared to death, jumped into the bathroom and locked the door, but he knew it would do no good. The coffin banged against the door and burst into the bathroom.
In desperation the man reached out and grabbed the first thing he could reach. It was a bottle of cough syrup. He threw it at the coffin. And you know what? The coffin stopped.
18
THE MISER’S COFFIN
WEST OF IRELAND
Once upon a time, just outside a small town in the west of Ireland, there lived a family by the name of Murphy. Dermot Murphy was a big, strong man but he was known by the locals as ‘the poor mouth’ because of his miserly ways. However, his wife Mary was a small, pretty woman who was always willing to help anyone, as was his daughter Brigit.
The land they lived on was poor and boggy. The Murphys’ cottage was by the side of the road. At the bottom end of the garden there grew a small oak tree. The cottage was small, with a kitchen, a living room and two small bedrooms. Their water was supplied by a well in the garden and they had no electricity as Dermot claimed it to be the work of the devil (though the real reason was he didn’t want to pay the bill).
Dermot Murphy was a mean-looking man. He was cruel and refused to part with a single penny for anything unless he stood to benefit. He was so mean that when his poor wife Mary died he refused to buy her a decent coffin or even to pay for a burial plot in the local cemetery. He bought the cheapest wooden box he could find and buried her in a shallow grave at the bottom of the garden near the oak tree. His daughter Brigit was extremely upset at the way her poor mother had been treated, but although she cried and begged her father to give her a decent burial it was to no avail.
Dermot wasn’t poor. In fact he had a great deal of gold coins in a leather purse that he hid behind a loose stone inside the fireplace. Every night when his daughter went to bed he would take the purse out and count his money by candlelight. If he heard his daughter stirring he would quickly hide the purse under his jacket and tell her to go to sleep and stop trying to spy on him. When he was satisfied that his money was all there he would put it back behind the stone in the fireplace.
One night, about a year after her mother’s death, Dermot was counting his money as normal when Brigit came into the room and said that she wasn’t feeling very well. She asked her father to get the doctor.
Of course the first thing her father thought of was the cost.
‘Arrah, don’t be worrying. It’s only a bit of a pain. Go on back to bed. You’ll be fine in the morning.’
Brigit was pale and clammy and was in no state to argue. She did as her father told her and went back
to her bed. A short while later her father heard her groaning and she came back into the room. This time she looked dreadful. Once more begged him to get the doctor.
‘Will ye go back to bed and don’t be spying on me,’ he said.
Once more she did as she was told. He heard her groaning for a while and then there was silence.
Later that night Dermot put his money back in its hiding place, happy it was all still there, and was just about to go to his bed when he thought he’d look in on his daughter. He found her half in and half out of her little bed. He felt her face. It felt cold, very cold. It suddenly dawned on him that she was dead.
Dermot was very upset as funerals could be costly but then he had an idea. He would bury her next to her mother. That way he’d save money and they could keep each other company. After the burial, Dermot was once again counting his money when a fierce storm began. It was as bad as the Night of the Big Wind in 1897.
The following morning the local townspeople were repairing the damage to their properties. They didn’t notice that Dermot hadn’t visited the local pub to get his few ounces of tobacco and a pint. However, when no one saw him for a few days, the locals began to wonder where he was. They decided to pay him a visit.
When they arrived at his cottage they noticed that there was some damage caused by the storm. At the bottom of the garden they saw that the little oak tree had been uprooted and that there was a coffin in the middle of the garden. As they went through the gate and approached the cottage one of the locals shouted out and pointed. Halfway in the front door was another coffin. They looked through the window and there they saw Dermot Murphy. He was sitting upright in his chair, stiff as a board, his eyes frozen and his mouth wide open as if he was screaming in terror. One hand was over his face, as if he had been trying to protect himself. The other seemed to be pointing at the coffin, which was half open.
In the coffin lay Brigit, peaceful in death, her hands joined together as if in prayer. It was the custom at the time to bury the corpse with a set of rosary beads in his or her hands. However, the locals saw that instead of rosary beads, Brigit was clutching a leather purse. When they prised the purse out of her hands they found it to be full of gold coins. They counted the coins and found that there was just enough money to buy new oak coffins, one for Brigit and one for her mother Mary, and to pay for a decent pair of plots in the local cemetery.
Unfortunately there was not enough money left to bury Dermot. However, the locals managed to use the wood salvaged from the cheap coffins in which Murphy had buried his wife and daughter. They buried him at the end of the garden, where the oak tree used to be.
19
THE COONEEN GHOST
COUNTY FERMANAGH
It is in 1913 that our story begins. A widow named Mrs Murphy lived in a cottage in the mountains near Brookeborough, County Fermanagh, with her son and five daughters.
The problems seemed to begin following the tragic accident that caused the death of Mr Murphy. At first, there was occasional knocking on the front door, but when someone opened the door there was no one there. That kind of thing could be local lads just messing around. But the knocking began to happen more frequently – and it wasn’t just on the front door, but on every door and window in the house.
There were other strange happenings. Above the cottage was a room used for storing. The room could only be accessed by a stone staircase to one side of the cottage. The family began to hear heavy footsteps coming from the room but whenever anyone went to investigate there was no one there. Mrs Murphy decided to ask some of her friends and neighbours to sit with her and listen to the noises but even though they heard the banging and footsteps no one could explain it. Things soon took a turn for the worse.
Plates would suddenly lift into the air, fly across the room and smash against the cottage wall. Pots and pans would follow and music would suddenly begin to play. For some reason the ghost seemed to like ‘The Soldier’s Song’ and ‘The Boyne Water’. Sometimes the rapping sound followed the rhythm of the tunes. The family also witnessed furniture moving of its own accord and in one of the bedrooms the bed rose several inches off the floor before crashing back down again. Mrs Murphy became so scared for herself and her children she called on the services of the Church.
Father Coyle from Maguiresbridge paid a visit to the cottage. He witnessed strange shapes appearing and disappearing on the walls of the cottage, as well as the pots and pans flying across the room without any human involvement. The paranormal events were also witnessed by the MP Mr Cahir Healey, who simply did not believe what he was seeing. Father Coyle described watching blankets rise and fall on an empty bed as if someone underneath was breathing. He also heard terrifying groans coming from the hay store upstairs.
Father Coyle was given permission to carry out two exorcisms in the cottage, which in itself was extremely unusual for very few exorcisms were carried out in Ireland at that time. Unfortunately for the family, the exorcisms didn’t work and the ghost continued to plague them.
In fact, things started to get worse. It was as if the poltergeist resented the actions of the priest. The Murphys’ friends and neighbours even turned on the family, blaming them for practising witchcraft and bringing this horrifying entity upon themselves.
It was suggested by some of the locals that Mrs Murphy’s son had found a book in the forest near Cooneen called The Legions of Doom, which was said to give instructions on how to carry out satanic rituals and conjure up demons. The son was rumoured to have developed an unhealthy interest in the spirit world and some people believed that he had tried to raise a demonic spirit in the cottage.
For Mrs Murphy these accusations were the final straw. It was bad enough that no one seemed willing to help her. She was trying to cope on her own with six children and no husband. She was scared stiff. And now, on top of all this, the people she considered her friends and family had turned against her and her children. She decided to pack up her meagre belongings and flee to America. In 1913, they went to Glasgow in Scotland and from there they boarded a vessel to America, leaving the poltergeist and all their troubles behind. Mrs Murphy thought that would be the end of it, but she was badly mistaken.
To her surprise and horror the poltergeist followed them on to the ship and the banging and rapping began once more. Apparently it is well documented that passengers on board complained to the captain about the strange noises coming from the Murphys’ cabin. The captain was forced to confront Mrs Murphy and told her that if she didn’t stop the noise then he would be forced to put her off the ship. She tried to explain about the poltergeist but of course he didn’t believe her. Sailors are an extremely superstitious lot and the last thing he would have wanted was rumours spreading about a ghost on his ship. They seem to have come to an understanding for she was allowed to remain on board and the family eventually arrived in America.
The Murphy’s quickly found a new home but the ghost followed them and the haunting continued for some time. Eventually the strange happenings stopped and the family were began to live a new life as best as they could. Unfortunately the poltergeist had a terrible effect on one of the Murphy girls. It is said that she was so traumatised by everything that had happened that she spent the rest of her life in a mental institution in America.
But what happened to the ghost? The old cottage in County Fermanagh is still there today and the locals will give you directions to it if you ask them. When you stand outside you get an uneasy feeling, and when you enter the first thing you will notice is the cold. If you felt uneasy outside, the feeling grows much worse once you stand inside. In recent times some people have used the house as a drinking den and there are beer cans, bottles and cigarette butts scattered on the floor of the cottage. Some of the locals will tell you it’s the youngsters who dare each other to tell ghost stories in the house on Halloween.
Some people have said that they have felt the presence of an angry man who didn’t want them there. There may be some truth to that. So
me will say it’s haunted and others will tell you to cop on to yourself, there’s no such thing as ghosts. All I’ll say is that it’s unlikely you’ll come into contact with the Cooneen poltergeist, but there is certainly something not quite right about that cottage …
20
THE HELLFIRE CLUB
COUNTY DUBLIN
In the seventeenth century, Europe entered a new era, that of the Enlightenment. It was also known as the Age of Reason as it was a time when man began to cast off the superstition and fear of the medieval world and use his faculties of reason to discover a new world. In the efforts to discover the natural laws that govern the universe, man was to make huge scientific, political and social advances. Rational thought was the new belief and this led to the rejection of the authority of both the Church and the State. Immanuel Kant expressed the motto of the Enlightenment when he said, ‘Dare to think.’ However, the Hellfire Club had its own motto over the entrance to their first building: ‘Do what thou wilt.’
The first Hellfire Club was founded in London in 1719 by a drunkard, the aristocrat Philip, Duke of Wharton, but it is his successor Sir Frances Dashwood (Chancellor of the Exchequer) who was to go on to gather together what he termed ‘the most esteemed persons of quality’ in Ireland and Britain. Dashwood bought the grounds and subterranean caves of Medmenham Abbey in 1746 and transformed them into a hedonistic playground for the wealthy. Excesses of food, drink and women, not to mention rumoured blaspheming, black masses, satanic rituals and paganism, sacrificing publicly to Bacchus and Venus, the gods of wine and sex. This was to become the club’s primary philosophy. Over the years, the club included amongst its members Benjamin Franklin and a former Prince of Wales.
